


Miya Atsumu Has A New Package

by mabufu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Miya Atsumu, Cunnilingus, M/M, Miya Atsumu is a Brat, Spanking, Top Sakusa Kiyoomi, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Miya Atsumu, Vaginal Sex, but also not patient at all, sakusa kiyoomi is too patient with him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 21:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabufu/pseuds/mabufu
Summary: Atsumu orders some jockstraps online, and Kiyoomi behaves very rashly.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 120





	Miya Atsumu Has A New Package

**Author's Note:**

> These awful boys got me to finally try writing, and of course it ends up being 3k words of nsfw...whatever this is. I think it's alright, but I've also been looking at it all night, so I can't tell anymore. It is what it is. No beta, as my brain dictates I gotta post it Right Now.
> 
> Warning: this fic uses conventional language to describe Atsumu's genitalia, but partly switches over to male language. I'm trans, and it's what I'm cool with, so that's that.

“Did you order something? There’s a package outside the door.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t blink twice before Atsumu zips to the entrance, swinging the door open and stopping himself just before slamming it closed. With a box in hand, he powerwalks over to the couch and lands himself next to Kiyoomi, who manages to place his still cooling coffee on the nightstand before anything unfortunate happens.

He’s never seen Atsumu so excited to get a package. To be fair, he’s not really one to order things online, that’s Kiyoomi’s job. The bottom of their closet is starting to get a bit overloaded with empty boxes that, in an ironic twist, Atsumu must nag Kiyoomi to throw out. He’ll get to it later, he promises.

“I’ve got something for us. Mostly for me. But for you too. I think so. I think you’ll like it.”

“What _is_ it?”

Atsumu whips a boxcutter out from god-knows-where and tears the package open. He stops for a moment and looks almost reverently at something still in plastic wrap before changing gears back to sheer excitement and pulling it out. He tears the wrapping off, and spreads what Kiyoomi can now see is some kind of clothing in the space between him and Atsumu.

“Jockstraps?”

“Yeah, yeah. I finally got some.”

“But you don’t even have a dick. What do you need jockstraps for?”

Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him. “Oh Omi. My sweet Omi. My lovely, wonderful, beaut-”

“Get to the point.”

Atsumu huffs in amusement, and continues. “Get this. Some genius out there made jockstraps you can put a packer in. Or this”--he pulls out a shaped foam insert from the packaging--”in case you don’t have one. Makes it look like you do.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen marginally at the display, so subtly that only Atsumu would really notice anyway. The latter does. His stupid, cocky little grin that Kiyoomi oh so adores but will never say as much reaches his ears. “I’m gonna go try one on, wait here.”

“Wait, without even washin-”

“Wait here, wait here!”

Kiyoomi watches him skitter to the bathroom like a freaky little imp before he just about slams the door closed. He sighs, sits back, and goes to take another sip of his coffee. He’s never worn a jockstrap himself, to be honest, thinking they were a bit silly looking. He supposes he gets their.. masculine appeal. At the very least, his boyfriend is clearly excited, and that’s enough for him. 

He checks his various social media feeds as he waits for Atsumu to return, or to call him over, before he grows concerned with how long it’s taken. “Hey, are you good in there? What’s up?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Everything’s good!” Atsumu shouts across the expanse. “Actually babe, close yer eyes for a minute!”

“Okay.” Kiyoomi obeys, and listens for Atsumu’s steps to herald his return to the living room. Atsumu doesn’t stomp generally, but he still strains to hear before he feels the weight of hands on both his shoulders. “You can open ‘em now, Omi.”

He opens his eyes slowly, like a cat relaxed and trusting, to the sight of Atsumu in nothing but an old black tank top, ringed sports socks, and the aforementioned jockstrap. He had seen that the blonde had ordered a few in different colors, blue, red, black, and had chosen the red to try on. Atsumu’s hands still on his shoulders, the man slowly raises his left leg up to rest his knee next to Kiyoomi’s right thigh. “Whaddya think?”

He thinks nothing. He can’t, really. Kiyoomi’s mind is in overdrive right now at the display before him. Klaxons are blaring in his ears, his whole body on full alert as every cell in his body works together to come to one realization.

_I’m in danger._

He suddenly gets why so much porn has dudes in jockstraps. How could he be so stupid? His boyfriend’s massive, strong, lightly hairy thighs take up most of his line of sight, and right there in between his legs is something he had grown accustomed to not seeing--a bulge. A respectable one at that.

“Turn around.”

Atsumu doesn’t give Kiyoomi one of his usual toothy smiles. It’s quiet, small, confident. He lowers his leg back to the ground, and slowly enough that Kiyoomi is sure it’s intentional, swivels on his heel, pulling the bottom of his tank top up to make sure nothing is obscured.

Kiyoomi is pretty sure he’s going to die. Right here, right now, on a couch in a little apartment in Osaka, with Atsumu’s big bubble butt in his face, covered in nothing but the two straps that connect what barely qualifies as underwear. He’s going to die and he’s going to haunt Atsumu in the next life, give him hell for what he’s inflicting on his poor soul right now.

“Well? Ya like what ya see?” It is there and then that Atsumu makes the worst (or, in retrospect, best) decision of his life. He runs one finger underneath one of the straps, pulls up, takes a second to stretch, and lets go, the resulting smack against his ass reverberating in Kiyoomi’s ears.

Atsumu starts to giggle, but then yelps as the sudden force of two hands grabbing at his hips almost propels him backwards. Those hands hold him steady before they move unceremoniously to squeeze and pull at his ass cheeks, and then he feels a warm breath spread across his rear.

“Atsumu, you’ve done a bad thing. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

The blonde glances back, his eyelids low and mirroring the downright predatory look that Kiyoomi has laser focused on him. He lets out a small huff that sounds like a laugh. “I think I’ve got some clue.”

He doesn’t have much opportunity to expand on that, as Kiyoomi sets him forward and stands. He grabs Atsumu by his waist and has them switch places so that Atsumu is facing the couch. “On your knees, Miya. On the couch.”

“Oh, we’re doin’ Miya now? Gettin’ bossy?”

A quick smack on the ass. “Now, Miya.”

He snickers a bit before climbing up as instructed, supporting himself on the back of the couch with his elbows. He wiggles his butt a bit, and swings his feet playfully, looking like the world’s most insufferable pinup model. “Ooh, what’s big, scary Omi gonna do to me? Is he gonna keep spankin’ me like some mean ol’ pervert? I figured ya’d like this, but someone sure is excited.”

Kiyoomi’s face is expressionless as he plays grabass with Atsumu again, digging his nails into the soft flesh of his cheeks and giving him yet another slap, this time loud and hard. The blonde hisses and recoils, but quickly reorients himself and slides back within Kiyoomi’s reach. “F-fuck, Omi. Do that again.”

Kiyoomi’s hand is gentle where he had just slapped, massaging in circles before he pulls back and repeats. “Did I say you could order me around, Miya?”

“A-aahh! It uhh, sure seems to be workin’.”

“You keep giving me lip and I’ll stop before this even starts.”

Atsumu snorts. “Okay, okay. Pleeeeease, Omi, dear, can ya smack my butt again, jes’ like that?”

“Hmph. Since you said please.” With that, Kiyoomi smacks him a third time, and a fourth without stopping to rub beforehand. Small gasps can be heard from up ahead, and he continues his assault.

Atsumu adjusts his arms so he’s gripping the back of the couch, bends his back and spreads his legs so his butt pushes out more. “Ah, ah, that’s good,” whispered.

Kiyoomi smacks a few more times before switching to the other cheek. The hand he was using previously moves to push Atsumu’s tank top back up from where it had fallen to obscure the top of the jockstrap. He stares at the small of Atsumu’s back, down to where the pale skin, rippling muscle underneath, meets the waistline of the strip of fabric before continuing onto the wide, soft expanse of his ass. He thought these things were stupid. He runs his tongue over his lips.

He’s willing to admit when he’s wrong. 

Atsumu is whimpering now, knuckles turning white at the relentless attack on his body. The sting is stronger now, more immediate and longer lasting, with Kiyoomi taking less and less opportunities to care for the tender flesh before starting on another round of smacks. Small tears well up on the edges of his closed eyes, and he can feel a wetness begin to grow underneath the fabric of his underwear. “A-a-aaah fuck, Omi, fuck. Please, Omi.”

Kiyoomi lets a smack ring out before he answers. “Yes, Miya? Do you want something?”

“P-please.”

“Please what? You were so chatty before. Tell me what you want.”

“M...more. More, Omi, fer god’s sake.” He feels pathetic, already jerking into the empty air around him. “Yer fingers, your mouth, iunno, sumtin’. More.”

A beat, and then a hand on his waist pushing him down so his back is on the couch cushions. A small “oof” escapes him, and then a looming presence hangs overhead. Kiyoomi’s signature curls fall forward, and Atsumu again sees that hungry, voracious look in his boyfriend’s eyes, like he’d eat him alive if he could, he’d devour him--mind and body and soul--without hesitation. He returns that steady gaze and does what anybody who knows they’re prey without hope of escape would do--he offers his neck up to him.

“And here I thought you’d stop being a brat for a moment. A good boy for once. Cocky little slut.”

“Ain’t I bein’ good for ya right now? Lookit me, served up on a platter for ya. I thought ya’d be grateful.” At that, Kiyoomi’s facade breaks a fraction, and he offers up the kind of smile that only Atsumu is ever allowed to see. He whispers, “God, I can’t stand you,” as he moves to mouth at Atsumu’s neck and run his hands under his shirt. “How annoying.”

“Annoying, maybe, but here waiting for you to fuck me already.” He wraps his legs around Kiyoomi’s waist, but it hardly matters as the dark-haired man sits up to look at him. “You said you wanted my mouth? My fingers Something?” 

“What’s ‘Something’?” he jokes, but Kiyoomi wastes no time letting him know. Atsumu feels the man’s very real, heavy bulge press through his briefs against the inside of his thigh, between that and the bulge in his own damp jockstrap. He swallows, and wiggles to create friction there. Kiyoomi grabs his knee. 

“Behave.”

“And if I don’t?”

His answer is a lightning fast, unseen whip of a hand across his very sore, very tender ass, a strike that has him clawing at the couch. “Shiiiit, warn a guy next time!”

“You asked.” 

Atsumu groans. He’s practically drowning in the self-satisfaction he can feel coming from Kiyoomi. “Alright, alright, Omi, c’mon. Show me what ya got.” He reaches out to wrap his hands around the other man’s shoulders. “I promise I’ll be good for ya. So good.” 

A surprise peck on the lips from Kiyoomi and then fingers pushing open that same mouth. “My fingers first,” he mentions in an almost off-hand way, like he’s too busy thinking of the next five steps. Atsumu eagerly wraps his tongue around the two digits, bobbing his head ever so slightly as he wets them. He’s got a goal now: be a good boy.

Kiyoomi traces light shapes with his other hand down the blonde’s body, delicate touch to counter the rough, merciless abuse he dished out earlier. He always takes time to feel up Atsumu’s thighs, delights in how strong they are under soft skin. He mimics Atsumu’s actions from before, running a finger under one of the straps at the junction of his thigh and butt, appreciating the contrast between the dark fabric and the fading tan line there. He snaps it lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to get his lover’s attention. 

Said lover is moaning around spit-soaked fingers, teasing them with teeth and tongue. He looks down and smiles around those fingers, and has got enough cheek left in him to give him a little wave of the hand too. Kiyoomi pulls out of his mouth. “Good.”

Before Atsumu can think, he feels a finger pressing at the rim of his ass. He tenses a moment, and then relaxes into the touch, raising his legs up to accommodate for Kiyoomi, who is now scooching down the couch and laying between them. He places his socked feet just over Kiyoomi's shoulders and runs a hand through the man's soft, dark curls.

"You ready, Atsumu?"

"Whenever you are," he replies, and a soft sigh escapes him as Kiyoomi gets straight to work opening him up. It's not long before he adds a second finger, pumping in and out as a gasping Atsumu pushes back to meet the motion of his hand. Kiyoomi concentrates as low, but increasingly desperate calls of "fuck", "oh god", "please, please", and just plain ol' obscene groans rumble out overhead. Atsumu's fingers in his hair scratch and pull, and the pleasure-pain goes straight to Kiyoomi's cock still straining against the confines of his briefs.

"Good. You're doing good, Atsumu. Just like that. Now, my mouth." 

The blonde furrows his brows together, letting a full body shiver rake over him at the praise. He looks down at Kiyoomi, and almost immediately regrets it, because at that very moment the latter is looking him straight in the eyes and grabbing his fabric covered foam bulge and pulling it aside to reveal the soaked and engorged lips of Atsumu's pussy to the air. The underside of the jockstrap itself is damp and sweaty in Kiyoomi's hand, and he almost yells when the man runs his nose along it and inhales deeply.

"Smells good." He turns to lick a long stripe between Atsumu's folds and up towards a clit that's been been made longer and erect both by hunger and hormones. "Your 'cock' is nice and all, and I'm glad you decided to get these," he drawls. "But you know...I think I still prefer the real one."

"Fffuuuuuck," is as intelligent a reply as Atsumu can manage, and Kiyoomi takes that as all the go ahead he needs before he dives in. His tongue works at the blonde's entrance and actual cock while his fingers pump and scissor inside his ass. The dual assault has Atsumu jerking and writhing on the couch, moaning and wailing and thrusting up and forward to try and meet both his mouth and fingers. Atsumu's own fingers in his hair pull and push every which way, mad and confused and simply chasing pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, Omi, Omi, oh my god, fuck!"

Nonsense and swears spill out of Atsumu's mouth, and Kiyoomi drinks it all in. He barely thinks of his own cock right now, too focused on being nose deep in his Atsumu's heat, but nevertheless he whines as he grinds his crotch against the cushion. The whine becomes vibration against Atsumu's cock, and the man gasps and bucks and squeezes his thighs together around the other's head and babbles.

"Oh shit, fuck, do that again, don't stop, Omi don't you dare stop, fuuu-ah-aaahhh"

Kiyoomi thinks he must've died and gone to heaven. His face is soaked and he can barely breathe, inhaling through his nose and getting overwhelmed with the scent of Atsumu's sweat and arousal surrounding him. He just manages to shift between sucking at Atsumu's cock and pressing his tongue into his entrance, and he relishes in every little twitch of his walls he can feel directly. It is only out of sheer necessity that he spreads Atsumu's thighs to come up for air.

And there, Atsumu swings his head forward to look down, play witness to his boyfriend eating him out, eating him alive like his eyes promised what feels like ages ago, and his heart and body can hardly bear it. He clenches on Kiyoomi's fingers in his ass and bucks once, twice, erratically and mindlessly against his mouth and comes with a shout of the other's name, letting loose a flood of new wetness that Kiyoomi is only happy to lap up.

Before Atsumu can come down all the way from the high of his orgasm, Kiyoomi moves quickly to tear down his briefs and grab his aching cock. He takes one look at the ruined man in front of him, at the ruined, messy jockstrap he still has pushed to the side, and with a swift motion enters him until his balls tap at his entrance. He groans shamelessly, and bends forward to take Atsumu's flushed, sweaty face in hand to kiss. He forces his tongue into Atsumu's mouth, has him taste his own release, and pumps his cock in hard, fast motions that move the delirious blonde up slightly on the couch.

He's so worked up at that point that it doesn't take long at all. He pulls out and with another tug, shoots his load out all over Atsumu's crotch and even up to his stomach, droplets staining his rumpled tank top.

He's shaky, all his limbs buzzing, just barely keeping him sitting up until he decides to give up and drape himself over Atsumu's prone form. He'll be grossed out about the stickiness later, but hardly gives a shit now. His breathing begins to calm when he feels arms wrap around his back.

"Fuck. Fuck, jeez, Omi. I should've gotten a pair of these ages ago. I can't feel my legs at all. Yer gonna have to carry me to bed."

"First you're carrying yourself to a shower. We probably stink."

"Iunno, Omi. Ya seemed to really like how much we stunk. Are ya finally revealin' yer true, depraved self?"

A hand half-heartedly splays itself over Atsumu's face, obstructing the laugh that rings out over mumbled grouching. He ends up kissing Kiyoomi's hand while it's there anyway. "So, Omi. Tell it to me straight. Was I a good boy?"

A huff.

"The best."

**Author's Note:**

> fandom twitter is deimoscodes


End file.
